Keeping Up
by Shannanigans
Summary: My usual, written quickly, obsessed with drunk!Sam, mess.  Set after "Shut up, Dr. Phil."  Dean drinking in the morning   scary!  Basically, Sam is willing to do anything to help Dean, including self-destruct.


**My usual, written quickly, obsessed with drunk!Sam, mess. I over-use their names, but don't know how else to make it clear who is speaking. Suggestions? I just don't feel… flow-y (to make up my own word). Comments are welcome, but please be kind. Set after "Shut up, Dr. Phil." Dean drinking in the morning = scary! I'm also not sure if this story makes sense, you'll have to let me know. Basically, Sam is willing to do anything to help Dean. **

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Keeping Up

Sam prepared himself as best he could. _God, this was gonna suck, but it has to be done._ He'd start off slowly, so that Dean wouldn't catch on. Every other time Dean went for his flask, Sam took it when offered,_ because Dean always offered. _By the time they made it back to the hotel, Sam was just this side of buzzed, but Dean was… Dean was fine. _And wasn't that scary. _They had just finished the case with the thousand-year-old witches and had moved on to more Leviathan studies, because the only reason they made it out of that motel room alive - was thanks to Don.

So, here they were, at a University town in Massachusetts, trying to glean something, _anything_, from any possible source. As much as he hated trying to help Dean with this lesson, there were worse places than a friggin' college town to take up drinkin'. Dean always wanted to go to the bar after "work". Sam agreed, only to help prove his point. He had started taking the flask from Dean more and more and always agreed to the bar. He knew he couldn't keep up this pace, or there'd be more than one Winchester brother with a drinking problem, but he had to help Dean. He had to help, even though drinking only increased his visions of Lucifer. He did his best to not let Dean onto this little secret, not yet anyway. Tonight, as with most nights lately, Sam was feeling his fourth beer. Earlier when Dean had bought shots, Sam lucked out when his brother was side-tracked by a pretty bartender and he could pour his shot into the drain behind her back.

After striking out with the bartender, Sam was relieved Dean was calling it a night. Sam slipped off of his stool, almost face-planting, but he caught himself just in time.

Dean smirked, "y'okay there Sammy?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah." Sam smiled, shyly. "M'fine. I feel good. I am feeling _no_ pain, De'."

"That's pretty clear bro. What say you to heading back to the motel?"

Drunk as he was, Sam still tried to remember his mission. Planting a dopey grin on his face, he said, "sure Dean! Let's go. I'll bet I can even sleep tonight. No thinkin' allowed."

Eyebrows questioning, Dean grabbed Sam's elbow and led him out the door. Sam nearly knocked Dean over when he enthusiastically turned and grabbed Dean's shoulders. "De' Dean! Lemme drive! I'm in the mood for tacos. There's a drive-thru on the other side of town. Cuz, tacos are good. Tacos are… you know, crunchy! Unless you want soft tacos… then they're not… you know, crunchy…"

Dean interrupted the tirade, "Dude, you're wasted! Why in the hell would I let you drive my car?"

Sam pouted, "Y… you drank more than me. Why can't I drive the freakin' car?"

"Sam, shut up. Okay? We'll get you some tacos. You're not driving. Period. End of story." Dean opened the passenger side for Sam.

Sam fell into the car. "Fine. Whatever. Jus' wanted some tacos. But _fiiiinnee_, if you're so freakin' sober you drive."

Tacos ended up being unnecessary as Sam passed out the moment Dean started the engine. Dean dragged his drunk-ass brother to bed and stayed up for another hour watching him sleep, finishing off the bottle of whiskey in the room.

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Sam couldn't take much more of this. His head was killing him, his mouth was dry and he couldn't even think about eating. Dean, meanwhile, was sipping whiskey for breakfast, while on the laptop.

He'd worked so hard to drown out Lucifer. He ignored the commentary, as best he could. Dean still occasionally caught him flinching at nothing. Sam was getting desperate. At this rate, Dean would die of liver cirrhosis before 35. He had to bring out the big guns, just this once. Guilt be damned, tonight he was going to try to end this.

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Sam had copped out of today's research, complaining of a headache. Dean let it slide; because he knew that he could do his own "research" at the local bar and grill. He didn't realize his little brother was planning a coup back at the motel.

Looking in the mirror, Sam messed up his greasy hair. He purposefully hadn't showered today. He stayed in his rumpled sleep clothes and grabbed Dean's ever-ready bedside bottle. He poured a bit down the front of his shirt and gagged when he swallowed a large drink. Now, he had to get the room ready. Sam had poured some of the bottle down the toilet; he needed to seem wasted, but didn't want to forget what he was doing. He threw papers all over the floor, turned off all the lights but one, and sat in the corner of the room facing an empty chair, bottle in hand. He had no idea how long it would take Dean to come home, but he knew he wouldn't be too late, his little brother "sick" and all. Slumping down, Sam took another pull of the vile drink and let his eyes relax while looking at the chair. Unfortunately, his plan didn't take long to begin working.

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Dean struggled with his motel key. _Huh, maybe tonight I overdid it a tad…. Nah._ When he entered the room, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. There was only one light on, and the lampshade was askew, almost spotlighting an empty chair. Searching the beds for signs of his brother, Dean's eyes finally came to rest on a messy mop of hair. Sam looked awful. He was sitting in the corner, on the dirty motel-room floor, facing the empty chair. He had Dean's bottle in one hand and his gun in the other.

Dean stumbled and grabbed onto the wall. "S…Sammy?"

Sam slurred deeply, "y'r not m'brother. Stop pretendin'." Sam swigged the almost empty bottle sloppily. His glassy eyes shot up to the empty chair, and he cocked his head as if listening. "Yeah, m'kay." Shakily, Sam brought his gun up and stared as best he could with his head spinning.

Dean jumped onto the bed near Sam and grabbed the gun from his brother's hands. Sam toppled over from the action. "G….gimmie m'gun. L'do it. Jus' lemme do it. Jus' need more a this." Sam finished the bottle and then laughed. He looked over at the chair. "Jus' need a lil' more liquid c'rage like m'big brother. Isn't that wha' you said Lucifer?"

Dean was still lying on the bed, holding Sam's gun. He pulled out the clip and made sure there wasn't a bullet in the chamber. He looked over at Sam, then the empty chair. _Oh God, what have I done? _"S…Sam. You're stronger than this, man. Don't listen to him. Don't give in."

Sam ran his hand through his hair. "But m'not Dean. M'not stronger. I tried to do what you do. I tried to drink him away, but he… he always knows how to fin' me! I…" Sam heaved a deep breath, tears running down his face. "I can't do this anymore! I don't wanna! P… please De. Either gimmie my gun or gimmie another bottle. I… can't do this. M'not strong enough! I jus' want him to go away!"

Dean grabbed the empty bottle from Sam's hand and threw it against the wall, shattering it into a million, shiny pieces. Next he grabbed his brother and pulled him to him, holding Sam's head to his shoulder, afraid Sam would be the next thing to shatter.

Sam sobbed. "Pl… please De. I just want it to stop. Make it stop!" Sam's hands went from bunched in Dean's shirt to searching the floor. "I need…"

"No! No, dammit! Sam." Dean grabbed Sam's chin. "I… I can't make it stop Sammy. But this?" He waved his hand around the room toward all of the empty and broken bottles. "This, isn't helping!"

"Please?" Sam begged, barely keeping his eyes open. He slumped further into Dean, then made a horrible gagging noise.

Knowing well what was coming next, Dean dragged Sam into the small bathroom. He held his brother's head over the toilet, making sure he didn't fall. Crying and begging and vomiting, Sam held on for dear life before passing out.

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Guilt. Guilt is what led us here. Dean had cleaned up his little brother and dragged him to bed last night. While Sam lay passed out, Dean cleaned all the weapons and put them in the trunk of the Impala. There was no need to tempt fate again. While he was at it, he cleaned up the motel room a bit, clearing away bottles and cans and cleaning up the shattered glass. Sam didn't even stir at the ruckus. By the time he finished, the sun was coming up. Dean's hands were shaking a bit, his body evidently used to his first morning drink. _Yeah, cuz that's acceptable. What the hell have I become?_

Moaning on the other side of the room brought Dean back to himself. Sam was obviously miserable. "Ugh. Oh god, I… I feel…like utter crap."

Dean walked over to Sam's bed and sat on the edge. Running his hand down his face, he sighed. "Me too, Sammy. Me too."

Sam looked suddenly self-conscious. "What the hell happened last night?"

"Well, for starters, you decided to drink like a big boy." Dean pounded his fist on his knee. "You decided to drink like me, Sam."

"Uh… oh. I'm… I'm sorry?" Sam wasn't really that clear on what happened after the first half of the bottle, but he hoped that his plan, however horrible, worked. Judging by the look on his brother's face, he _had_ seen Lucifer. He had gone off the deep end. He _had potentially_ gotten through to Dean. "Look, I don't know what I was thinking. I'd seen you drinking and it seemed to… you know, help or something. Thought I could handle it." Sam looked down. "Guess not."

"I don't think either of us has had a 'handle' on things for a while now. I'm… I'm gonna cut back on m'drinkin' Sam." Dean mumbled. "Nobody knows me better than you Sam, and I know you. We need to get a handle on this now."

_YES! I did it! _Sam thought."Okay Dean. You're right."

Dean got up, ruffled Sam's hair and started walking towards the bathroom. Just as he was about to shut the door, he yelled over his shoulder, "and if you EVER pull a self-destructive stunt like that again, just to save my ass? I'll kill you myself!"

_Shit! I did it._ Sam thought. "Okay Dean. You're right."

Things were far from better or resolved, but at least Sam didn't have to worry about _keeping up with Dean_ anymore, not in that respect anyway.


End file.
